


Tongues and Hands

by Blaithin



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Misunderstanding, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, accidental violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1308514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaithin/pseuds/Blaithin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Tony and Steve's adopted son sees the effects of Steve's  PTSD nightmares. Or Peter thinks Steve is abusing Tony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tongues and Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/7940.html?thread=15034884#t15034884

**Tongues and Hands**  
  
The hardest part of his family portrait was JARVIS.  
  
Everyone else was easy. The little Tony-Stick-Figure was hot red and highlighted with golden glitter. Little Steve-Stick-Figure was covered in white sticky stars, complete with matching shield, and the little stick figure that was meant to represent him was purple, because that was his favourite colour. Jarvis however…  
  
Peter gnawed at his bottom lip thoughtfully, he wasn’t sure JARVIS even had a colour. Maybe he should just draw a red dot like the sensors in the walls, but that didn’t feel right either. In the hopes of inspiration, Peter upended a carton of crayons, fanning them out across his paper to fully assess their different merits.  
  
“You’re going to get in trouble for that.”  
  
Peter glanced up to see Amy staring at him curiously. Her face was smudged with red felt-tip pen so bright it almost matched her hair.   
Peter suddenly wished he’d thought to use felt tips, the red colour was much better for Iron man than his crayon had been. He frowned angrily down at his page. “I’ve done it wrong.” He muttered.  
  
The hard line of Amy’s mouth softened and she held out the red pen in sympathy. “I did mine wrong too at first. If you ask, you can get a new piece of paper.”  
  
This was a pretty good suggestion, but Peter was more interested in what Amy had done wrong to merit a new piece of paper. In the whole year Peter had sat next to her, he didn’t remember a single time the teachers had told her off for anything.  
  
“Oh I drew my Mommy and Daddy holding hands.” She said quietly.   
  
Peter glanced down at his own picture. The fan of crayons had left a curve of colourful streaks and lines around his stick figure family, framing them like a rainbow. They were all definitely holding hands.   
  
He ran his finger over the little figures nervously, “My daddies are holding hands. Are they not meant to?”  
  
“It’s ok if your daddies do, because they live together” Amy said informatively, peering at his paper, “But my parents don’t live together anymore. They got a Divorce. So they can’t hold hands anymore.”  
  
Peter nodded sagely. He’d heard the word  _Divorce_  before and knew it was bad, he always imagined it was a capital letter word.   
  
“Why don’t you all live together?” he asked her.  
  
“My daddy used to hit my mommy. He would hit her really bad, sometimes until she couldn’t get up off the floor. She used to cry a lot.” Amy trailed off and Peter watched her sadly as her eyes went wet and red. “She said we couldn’t live with him anymore because he was hurting her and no one should hit anyone else, no matter what.”  
  
Peter’s own eyes stung, though he wasn’t sure why. He pushed his favourite purple crayon across the table with a smile. “Purple’s my favourite, it’s lucky” he told Amy, “but you can have it if you want.”  
  
Amy beamed back at him.

* * *

 

The picture had been a great success.   
  
Daddy had loved the gold glitter on his Ironman suit and told Peter that he was very clever to create a rainbow of colours to represent JARVIS. Peter felt a little guilty as he hadn’t exactly meant to draw JARVIS like that. Later that night, he’d told JARVIS the truth, but JARVIS said he didn’t mind. So Peter stopped worrying about it so much and promised himself he’d draw JARVIS his very own picture to make up for it.  
  
The picture got put on the fridge so everyone could see it, right next Papa’s favourite fan letters and a photograph of his parents from when they were younger. They were kissing each other, hands curled up around their partners' cheeks and their hair illuminated gold by the fireworks exploding behind them. Peter had always liked that photograph: it made him feel all warm and lit up inside.  
  
The other avengers came around and made the appropriate noises of awe, ruffling his hair and high fiving him. Later Papa had hinted that maybe he should draw them as well since they were also part of his family. He probably hadn’t meant for Peter to start it in the middle of the night, but Daddy worked a lot in the night and he worked better then, so that was probably true for Peter as well.   
That’s what he was going to say if he got caught anyway.   
  
Half through colouring the Hulk – a great giant mass of green felt tip with a little Bruce-Stick-Man standing in his palm – Peter felt his eyes droop. He looked at his Captain America sheets wearily, running his palm over his Papa’s cartoon face, and decided he wanted the real thing.   
  
His parents never turned him away from their bed and Peter liked wiggling up between them, feeling them curve their bodies around him. Daddy always made sure Peter was curled up against Papa because he was worried the arc reactor would hurt Peter. But Peter didn’t think it would, he liked the arc reactor, he liked the cool metal and the warmth from the blue light. After he’d had bad dreams in his own bed, he liked going to sleep with the arc reactor’s light burning into his eyelids, keeping the nightmares away.  
  
His Daddies room was down the hall from his. There was a bathroom between their rooms with a tub big enough to swim in, but it didn’t take him long to run past that and to his parents’ bedroom door.   
  
Ever since he’d got his own room, there had been a rule that Peter had to knock before coming into his parents’ room. They didn’t tell him why, other than it was rude. Peter wasn’t exactly sure why it was rude and often forgot.  
  
Unusually the light in their bedroom was on, illuminating the room from the hallway as Peter twisted the door open slightly. Angry, shouting voices assaulted him and he froze, the door cracked an inch and his face pressed against it so he could see inside.

Papa was yelling and thrashing about in bed.   
  
He’d managed to twist the sheets around him and was clawing at them desperately. They weren’t a match for his strength and he ripped them apart easily, writhing in the torn remains.  
  
“Steve, Steve, wake up.” Daddy’s voice was soft and Peter felt a rush of relief as he spotted him, a step away from the bed and calling Papa’s name. Daddy would make everything better. The arc reactor would make Papa’s bad dreams disappear like they did for Peter.  
  
Suddenly Papa shot upright with a gasp, his face was red and sweaty like he’d been working out and his eyes were so wide Peter could see the rolling whites of his sclera from the doorway.  
  
“Steve?” Daddy whispered softly.  
  
Papa snapped around to face the voice, his eyes still wide and unseeing. Daddy took a step backwards but Papa was already leaping to his feet, closing the gap between them faster than Peter had ever seen anyone move and grabbing the smaller man by the shoulder.   
He propelled them both towards the room’s back wall, slamming Daddy against the wallpaper hard enough to make the dark haired man gasp. Peter whined nervously, his thumb coming up his mouth.  
  
“Steve, Steve! It’s me, It’s Tony. It was just a dream. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”   
  
Peter could only see his Daddy’s face from his position at the door. Papa’s back was to him, the muscles near his spine bunching and heaving as he gasped. It seemed like he couldn’t breathe properly. For a moment he started to release the other man, his fingers flexing tight before dropping away from Daddy’s upper arms.   
  
Then Daddy tried to reach out to him.  
  
Papa’s arm swung up and then sideways. His hand came back down, twisted so the back of it slammed into Daddy’s face. Daddy cried involuntarily as the hit landed, the noise choked off as his jaw moved. His face was forced to one side and his whole body twisted to follow. He stumbled and fell to the ground, his legs splayed out around Papa’s bare feet. Peter's stomach twisted horribly at the sight. He Daddy didn’t look right, he looked small and frightened and when he turned his face upwards there a big red mark on his jaw and moisture pooling in his eyes.  
  
“Shit! Oh God! Tony…”  
  
Peter stumbled away from door, almost falling over his pyjama trousers in his haste to get away. He shoved his fist into his mouth to stop the scream that had caught in the back of his throat from coming out. His papa had hit his Daddy, he’s Daddy had been crying and on the floor. It was just like Amy had said. A sob escaped him before he could stop it and he glanced over his shoulder sharply, expecting his Papa to be there.  
  
He wasn’t, no one was. Peter scurried back to his room, stamping all over his half-finished drawings as he leapt into bed and under the covers. The cartoon face of his Papa stared up at him with a grin. His teeth were too white and there were words curling over his head proclaiming  _‘For Peace, Justice and Freedom.'_  
  
Peter suddenly ripped the duvet off the bed, throwing it to the floor and kicking it violently, as fierce anger shook his whole body. Once it was off his bed he kicked the mattress and kept kicking it until he couldn’t anymore and then curled up, cold and miserable and fell asleep.

* * *

 

“Hey munchkin, you ready to get up?”  
  
Peter struggled against unconsciousness, rolling sleepily towards the warm body next to him. A hand came and petted his hair and Peter opened his eyes to smile up at his Daddy, knowing who it was from the way he ran his fingers gently back and forth against Peter’s scalp.  
  
His smile stalled half way and Peter found himself staring at the big dark mark across his Daddy’s jaw. It was really bad, it looked like he’d got purple and red crayons and rubbed them together all over his cheek. His cheek was so swollen his eye was squinting. Peter’s felt his throat lock up miserably as last night came rushing back to him. Daddy sometimes had other bruises, he said they were from avengers missions but maybe they weren’t, maybe Papa had hit him then too.  
  
“Hey, hey, what’s up? Peter you look like you’re about to cry?”   
  
Peter threw himself desperately into his Daddy’s lap, pressing his face into the man’s soft t-shirt and fisting his hands into the material.  
  
“Peter?” strong arms came and wrapped around, rocking him back and forth until Peter found himself sniffling weakly. “Sweetie what’s wrong, I can’t help unless you talk to me.”  
  
Peter shook his head. He didn’t have the words to explain. There was just a horrible, awful, desperate feeling in his chest that hurt really bad.  
  
“Do you want me to get Papa?” Daddy asked sounded almost desperate.  
  
“No!” Peter screeched, “I just want you. Don’t leave me. I just want you.”  
  
“Peter I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you, I’ll look after you.”  
  
Peter clung tighter onto his Daddy. Soon his Daddy would leave his Papa. That’s what happened to Amy’s mommy and Daddy. He didn’t want to leave his Papa but he didn’t want to see his Daddy being hurt again. His thumb crept up to his mouth and he sucked at it worriedly, he didn’t know what to do, or how to make it better.   
  
Peter had thought his Papa could make everything better, that he’d protect them all because he was Ccaptain America, but he’d been wrong.

Peter would just have to do it instead.

* * *

 

The morning after another sleepless night Peter wondered downstairs, the floor was cold beneath his bare feet and he curled his toes up trying to keep them warm. In the hall he carefully avoided the splits in the tiling. After a while he gained some confidence and leapt over multiple stones, swinging his arms back and forth to gain some momentum. He kind of knew how kinetic energy worked, his Daddy had explained it once, but mostly he just liked the giddy feeling of almost flying across the floor. Peter knew he shouldn’t be having fun, not now that his family was going to get a Divorce but sometimes it was hard to remember since everything seemed so normal.  
  
Most things seemed normal anyway.   
  
His Daddy kept asking him questions. Questions about school and his friends: had someone been mean to him? Did he want to talk about it?  
  
Peter didn’t know why he was asking those questions; every time he did he just shook his head and crawled into his Daddy’s lap and made himself as small as he could. Peter wasn’t doing a very good job of looking after his Daddy because his Daddy kept looking like he was going to cry.  
  
Peter thought maybe he was still crying because Papa had hit him. Amy said her mom had cried a lot, maybe that’s what would happen to his Daddy now. He’d just keep crying.   
  
The worry that it might happen again kept him awake at night, he lay rigid in his bed, straining to hear any bad noises, but he never heard anything. Peter wondered how long it would be before Daddy left Papa. He wondered who he would have to live with.   
  
“Have you asked him?!”  
  
“Asked him? Hmm, you know I haven’t tried that, I’ve just been staring at him and hoping my powers of telepathy will kick in soon.”  
  
Peter froze as the voices reached him, his muscles locked and his ears strained trying to figure out where the sound was coming from.  
  
“Could you lay off the sarcasm for once Tony? I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with our son and all you’re doing is making it harder!”  
  
Peter darted towards the kitchen and towards the sound of the shouting. His Papa’s voice echoed through the corridor as he got closer.  
  
“Stop saying stupid things then. Of Course I’ve asked him.”  
  
“It’s been a week and you still don’t know anything!”  
  
Peter skidded into the kitchen at a run. Neither of the adults in the room saw him, they were too busy focused on each other. His Papa was looming over his Daddy and both of them were scowling and shouting. It was going to happen again.   
  
“Me? Where are you in this equation?” Daddy all but screamed the last bit and Peter’s heart stuttered as Papa raised his hand up to his hair.   
  
“Stop!” He cried, his voice was loud enough to make them pause and they spun around to see him.   
  
“Oh Peter…”  
  
He shot between the two men and pushed at Papa’s thick thighs angrily. “Don’t hit Daddy again!”

His Papa stumbled away from them. “Peter, I wasn’t going to…. We just having an argument.”  
  
Peter slammed his hands against his legs, frustration making his words hard to get out. “You were. Just like last time! I saw you hit him. You were going to hit Daddy again and make him cry and….” Words suddenly failed him and sobs took their place.   
  
Papa’s face looked too pale and his eyes were wide and strained again, he tried to take a step forward but then stopped and took two back.   
  
Peter felt himself cry harder. This was it; Papa was going to have to leave now.  
  
Daddy’s strong arms reached down and scooped him, cradling him.   
  
“Steve, why don’t you leave us alone for a little bit.”  
  
“Tony. He thinks…”  
  
“Just ten minutes.”  
  
Peter turned his face into his Daddy’s shirt as Papa walked out the room, unable to watch as he left them.  
  
“Peter. Peter. Look at me honey.” Daddy called his name, gently running his hand down Peter’s back even though he was crying so hard he knew he was shaking something awful. He has saved his Daddy but now he felt worse than ever. “It’s OK, it’s over now. I’ve got you.” With a sob he looked up.   
  
“I think we need to talk about what you saw, it wasn’t what you thought. Papa didn’t mean to hit me; he didn’t mean to hurt me. He was having a nightmare and thought I was someone from his dreams, he thought I was trying to hurt him. “  
  
Peter felt his tears reside as he took in this new information. It hadn’t looked like Papa was asleep. He said as much and Daddy nodded understandingly.  
  
“I know. He has special nightmares, sometimes they carry on for a little bit when’s he’s awake. He didn’t know what was happening. It was just an accident.” Daddy placed him on the kitchen counter and got a paper towel to mop up his face. Peter grabbed an extra square and twisted it between his hands.  
  
“Tell me what you’re thinking baby.” Daddy cajoled as Peter struggled to find the right words.  
  
“Amy’s mommy left her daddy because he hurt her. Papa hurt you, even if he didn’t mean to, are you going to have to leave him?”  
  
Daddy ran his fingers along Peter’s scalp for a moment and Peter looked up to watch his familiar face as he spoke. “No sweetie, I’m not going to leave him. Amy’s parents had a different situation. It wasn’t an accident when her daddy hit her mommy. Your Papa would never hurt me or you on purpose.”  
  
“But what if he hurts you again. Even if it is by accident.” Peter insisted and the thought of his Daddy on the floor, looking small and hurting made the tears come again. He looked up into dark eyes and that hateful bruise and his vision blurred.  
  
“Papa feels really bad about it and he’s getting some help so he won’t ever hurt me by accident again.”   
  
The paper towel was back and for a moment they sat in silence until Peter found his voice again. The horrible squirmy feeling in his stomach had settled down a bit and he thought he understood what had happened. His Papa hadn’t meant to hurt his Daddy, it had been an accident. “But you were shouting again.”  
  
“Sometimes adults shout at each other, it’s not always a bad thing and it doesn’t mean they hate each other, or they’re going to hit each other. We were shouting but Steve wouldn’t have hit me, no matter how angry he was and no matter how loud we shouted. I’m sorry we scared you.”  
  
“I’m sorry too.”

Peter whipped around to see his Papa slinking back into the kitchen. His mouth was sad, his shoulders were slumped and his eyes were red as if he’d been crying. Peter stared at him for a moment, unsure how to feel. He felt better now, but he’d been full of anger and fear all week and even though he knew now he didn’t need to be it was hard to forget it.   
  
“Peter, I love your Daddy very much. I did hurt him, it was an accident but I still feel really terrible about it. I hate that I did that to him, I hate that you saw that.” Papa’s voice cracked and a tear fell down his face. Peter didn’t think he’d ever seen his Papa cry before. “I’m really proud of you for trying to protect your Daddy, it was really brave. I’m sorry I scared you. Do you think you can forgive me?”  
  
Peter’s mouth twisted as he pondered the question. It was a serious one. He knew it has been an accident, and from the way Daddy was staring wide eyed over Papa’s shoulder Peter knew that he should say yes. But Amy had said no should hit anyone, no matter what. Did it not matter because Papa hadn’t meant to? But Daddy had still been hurt.  
  
Peter pulled at a loose curl thoughtfully. “Do you promise you’ll never do it again?”  
  
Papa nodded miserably.  
  
Peter stretched his arms out, all but throwing himself at his Papa. Big strong arms caught him and gently repositioned him against him chest. “It’s alright. I know now it was an accident.” He told his Papa, wiping away the tears that were still falling. “When it’s an accident, we just have to say sorry and make sure we don’t do it again.”  
  
“Wise words.”  
  
Peter wiggled in Papa’s arm until he was able to see his Daddy as well. Papa reached out and gently drew him closer until they were all close and pressed up together, Peter squished inbetween two chest, the arc reactor pleasantly warm against his cheek. He sighed, feeling the knot in his chest release a little. It was all going to be ok.  
  
“Tony I am really sorry,”   
  
“I know”  
  
“I hate that I hurt you,” The arm holding Peter shifted and moved upwards until it came to rest hesitantly on the awful bruise across his Daddy’s face. Peter’s breath hitched and from the movement of Papa’s chest beneath him he realised he wasn’t the only one who scared. Papa’s thumb rubbed at the bruise as if it was pencil mark and he was trying to erase it.  
  
“I know. I forgive you. Peter forgives you. It’s time to forgive yourself.”  
  
His Parents were still murmuring over his head as sleep started to grab at him. Peter hadn’t slept very well for a while and safe and warm in his parents arms it was catching up with. He struggled to keep his eyes open, desperate to listen to his parents. Despite what they said to him, Papa’s upset voice revealed everything wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t that surprised, Peter knew that things were complicated and messy and even though Daddy had been hurt, Papa was hurting as well in a different way. When things hurt it could take a long time to make them better again.  
  
Peter didn’t know why but as Daddy leaned into the hand on his cheek, pressing the bruise against Papa’s fingers even though it must have hurt, he decided he didn't need to worry so much.   
  
His parents looked at each other like they had done all those years ago, surrounded by fireworks.  
  
 **FIN**

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I loved this prompt but struggled with ending it. I wanted a happy ending and I hope I managed it but I realised when writing it that Steve's PTSD did not negate the danger he potentially posed to Tony. Tony wouldn't have been wrong if he had decided the situation wasn't safe and therefore not ok. He was under no obligation to stay with Steve. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this.


End file.
